Something Lost and Something Broken
by Nicole Starling
Summary: In the Game of Thrones, Odette Mormont knows she should fight for no one but herself, and that's what she does... Until wars are unleashed, and winter approaches. Now, her safety depends on whose side she takes, and how well she can keep a secret that could change the rules of the Game as they know it. A secret that could either turn her into a martyr, or a player. —Jaime/OC.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

**PART ONE**

_A bear amongst wolves_

* * *

_Dark as a Winter's night_, she thought grimly as she heard birds chipper and distant conversations; yet her eyes met nothing but emptiness before her, for she was blindfolded.

The piece of cloth was rather thick, some kind of harsh leather that one would use to put underneath many layers of armor. It was exactly the kind of piece any captor would use to render their captives without sight; it was always at hand and impossible to see through.

Odette heard something heavy being pushed towards her, then three unsure stomps on the dirt. Someone chuckled rather loudly, but not loud enough for her to miss the faint sound of wood hitting metal.

Somewhere to her right, a male voice chuckled: "No peeking, Robb!"

She could feel him as he rounded her as a predator did to his helpless prey. He tried —and failed miserably— to keep his steps mute, but he was too nervous to remember to focus on balancing his weight and putting his toes first like she'd told him so many times.

When she heard him shuffle behind her, she guessed he was going for a surprise attack, or perhaps he was trying to confuse her senses, make her wave her sword at the misty air before her.

He stomped a little harder one time, deliberately, and she almost smiled as she turned towards the sound a little quicker that she usually would. She knew the Wolf wanted to play her, so she'd let him have his fun.

The Wolf then carried sneaking behind her back, but she couldn't help but chuckle at the empty space before her. "What's the matter, little wolf?" She asked with a grin on face, as if she could see his eyes through the blindfold, even if she knew him to be standing three of large four steps behind her. "Are we planning on taking a swing anytime before the winter comes?"

He felt a little braver then, she was certain, because she heard the swing of his wooden sword cutting through the air behind her almost immediately after she finished talking.

Turning around quickly, she curved her wrist up high so the two swords met mid air, hers blocking his mere inches above her head. He'd taken a jump forward to take the swing, but his balance was off. She heard his heavy boots on the ground before her on places too apart, giving her a wide space to kick hard, which she did.

Her boot aimed high, pushing the sole against his belt, and he was pushed two steps back. Keeping a hand behind her back, she listened for his next move, focusing on keeping her own heartbeat slow enough so it wasn't ringing in her ears.

He, on the other hand, was panting loudly, so she could sense where his face was. He was closer than she'd anticipated, given that she could feel his hot breaths hitting her face. It was indeed getting colder outside with each passing day.

Surely, the took a swing, which he blocked with ease, pushing her weapon outwards. Her grip on the wooden stick was tight enough, so it didn't fly off her hand. "Nice one." She complimented, but her praise was only met with silence from his part. "Not much of a talker now, are you, little wolf? Why is that?" She took the offensive now, swinging and striking rapidly at his body. Much to her delight, every swing was met with well placed blocks from his part. "Oh, I see, you think that if you remain silent I won't know where you are, do you?" She proved him wrong by striking the back of his front leg —the one closer to her, where his weight mostly rested as he went to attack her middle, and sending him to the ground.

"There's a bleeding leg," she announced, moving to block a swing from his sword that was aimed at her tight. She took note to remind him not to let his weapon touch anything that could betray its position, just as the heavy fabric of his coat did a second earlier. She ran the edge of her stick closer to the handle of his and circled it, making his wrist fickler and then pushed it outwards, sending the stick flying. "there's your sword," She stepped closer to his body, putting one leg on each side of it and pressing her feet to his arm, which was helplessly scouting the dirt for his weapon. She swung her stick in the air dramatically before bringing it to the dirt close to his face, forcing a gasp of air from his chest. "And there's your head."

She didn't even manage to smile before he moved one of his legs to kick hers, sending her to the ground with a graceless thud. The air left her insides as she chuckled bitterly. "Oh, you nasty little cheat…"

Odette heard him laugh somewhere close as he stood up from the dirt. She extended her arm and a hand found her elbow, lifting her off the dirt. "We agreed everything was fair. You insisted on it, if I remember correctly, because during real wars.."

"Aye, during real battles everything is fair." Odette finished for him with a resigned sigh. She took her blindfold off and squinted at the sight of the silver sun of the North, blinking a few times so her eyes wouldn't tear up so much. "But in real battles, your enemies won't kick you after you separate their heads from their shoulders."

After her vision cleared, she saw the wolf before her, dusting off his clothes with a smirk on his handsome face, his own blindfold hanging from his neck. Robb Stark had his mother's auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes, which he shared with all but two of his siblings. He had turned sixteen years old not long ago, and so had his half-brother Jon. "Who knows? You might be fighting White Walkers." By her side, his brother, usually full of grim, thoughtful expression, smiled at her. He was the one who helped her up.

She rolled her eyes at Jon Snow, the young lad with the dark eyes and unruly raven hair, and threw her stick to the ground, a simple mock of a real sword made of cheap wood for them to practice with without hurting themselves. Lord Eddard Stark had insisted on them after a rather messy accident when they sparred with real swords they'd borrowed —and she would go to the grave swearing it was just a loan— from the armory. Lady Catelyn, Lord Eddard's wife, was not happy to find out her eldest son Robb was almost beheaded during child's play. Odette didn't dare to tell the angry She-Wolf that it was his idea to begin with. Messing with Lady Catelyn wasn't something even someone was reckless as Odette would dare do, specially when it concerned the Lady's children.

Odette eyed Robb, her sparring companion, with mockery. "Well, if all White Walkers fought like you, we would not have needed much of a Wall to begin with. I believe a small barricade would have sufficed, do you not agree?" She asked with false seriousness, enjoying his offended look.

"Not even The Wall and a thousand men could hold me if it came between me and my destiny." He said with an air of self-sufficiency. Beside her, Jon coughed to cover a laugh.

The girl clicked her tongue, running her hands through the back of her pants to wipe the dirt off them. "Now, what did we just learn? Don't you go running your mouth like that in front of me again, you know how much I enjoy to prove you wrong."

"What did he say?" The little Brandon Stark asked enthusiastically as he joined them, eager to learn what his two elder brothers and Odette Mormont were laughing about.

Odette turned to the younger Stark with a sly smile on her lips. "Doesn't matter now. I won, and proved him wrong."

Robb scoffed. "You did not win, you ended up with your arse on the ground."

"Don't be a sore loser, it is not becoming of a boy of your status. "

"I am a man!" He was about to discuss further, but decided against it. Odette Mormont never backed from an argument until she had the final word, and she had defended her honor quite well in the last hour. She was eighteen, soon to become nineteen, not much older than Jon Snow and himself, but a good head shorter in both height and temper. Robb also considered her quite a beauty; with her dark eyes and long, deep brown hair, she didn't stand out in a crowd as much as his young sister Sansa would do, with her hair like blazing fire, but Odette had a feisty personality unlike most of the bland, quiet ladies of the North. She also loved to run her mouth, a lot. Robb supposed it was something she took from her Southern mother. Overall, she wasn't ugly to look at, but he'd grown too accustomed with her company over the last years to see her as anything but a loyal friend and a remarkable fighter; better than most of the soldiers he'd sparred with.

And he did notice the shy glances his half-brother Jon Snow reserved for her whenever she wasn't looking. But he couldn't blame him from his staring. A girl like her was hard to miss.

Sometimes Robb felt a sting of jealousy at how much him Jon, Bran and Arya adored the young ward, but it passed when he remembered he felt the same. Odette didn't have much of a family of her own —not alive, not in Winterfell any longer—, and she'd grown so close to the Stark's that they mostly thought of her as family. At least, about half of them did.

"What are you looking at?" Odette asked him in her usual sneer. He chuckled, realizing he'd been staring and she hated when people did that, which was a common occurrence given that she was a girl sparring with boys, wearing pants instead of dresses, and carrying around sharp objects that were not needles for stitch work.

Robb pointed at his cheek. "You got something…"

She went to angrily wipe her own face with the sleeve of her camisole. "Just admit it already, the day you beat me in fair fight will be the day our dearest Bran hits the bullseye."

He could only laugh in response, but little Bran whined: "It's not funny! No one bothers to teach me."

Robb walked towards his little brother and patted his shoulder. "I will teach you," he grabbed his neck and leaned closer to his ear. "And she's going to eat her words."

She walked past a beaten up dummy and smiled at little Rickon Stark, who'd been watching the sparring from his own high seat over a broken saddle, his short legs swinging in the air happily. "What do you say, boy? Who won the fight?"

He pointed his wooden sword at his elder brother. "He did!"

Odette rolled her eyes and hit him softly in the leg. "Traitor." She leaned against Rickon's seat and watched as Bran attempted to shoot a straight arrow, missing the target by a great distance. And they continued to miss, despite Robb and Jon's many attempts at showing him how to keep his arm still. Odette watched as the young boy became increasingly frustrated with himself, and she pitied him just a bit. She didn't mean to be cruel when she said he wouldn't hit the bullseye, but Brandon Stark wasn't half as skilled with his hands as he was with his feet. He couldn't shoot a good arrow to save his life, but he could climb like no other.

After a while, Jon went and patted Bran's shoulder and mustered something in his ear. At that, Bran turned around and looked up, Odette's eyes followed. She saw Lord Eddard Stark, with his short beard and long brown hair, and his Lady Catelyn, with her big and judging Tully-blue eyes and rusty auburn hair, watching over the training. She pressed her lips together, wondering how long they had been there, studying them in silence.

Brandon drew the string one more time and shot a little too fast, the arrow going straight past the target and disappearing in the wilderness behind the wall. Everyone laughed, little Rickon moved his hand to his stomach and Odette had to yield to avoid being hit in the head with his toy sword.

"And which one of you was a marksman at age ten?" Eddard Stark's voice roared above their chuckles, silencing them. Odette's hand itched to be raised up, to remind them that she was a marksman just a year after she'd shot her first arrow, but the stopped herself. Girls at Bear Island were raised different than those of Winterfell, she learned that on her first years at the Great Keep. Not that she'd followed any of those rules ever since. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

The little boy seemed to appreciate the vow of confidence and turned to draw again, but he was visibly nervous. Jon leaned in. "Don't think too much, Bran."

"Relax your bow arm." Robb advised.

He pointed, and Odette kept her eyes on the target.

An arrow flew straight to the bullseye, and she almost gasped in surprise. Odette whipped her head to see young Arya Stark behind the fence, holding a bow of her own and looking very pleased with herself. She curtsied at Bran and ran away when the boy chased after her, his bow and arrow long forgotten.

Odette followed the two children with her eyes until they disappeared behind the stables.

"That was a close one."

"Right." She grabbed Rickon from under his arms and put him in the ground. "Help us clean up the mess."

Rickon seemed excited as he ran off to find the arrows. Odette went to grab Bran's bow across the field. "How did she get good?" Robb asked from behind her.

Jon passed by Odette's side with a handful of arrows of his own. "How do you think?"

Odette fought a triumphant smile as she turns to put away the bow, finding Robb looking at her with a raised eyebrow, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement. She finally laughed, "What? Us ladies 'ought to help each other."

* * *

Odette Mormont hated executions. Death in battle she understood, you fought for your cause —no matter how stupid it was— and you died, or killed, for it. Executions she deemed unfair. Laws were tricky, more often than not. They painted the world in white and black, no tolerance for shades of grey. She always thought how impossible it seemed to sentence a man to lose his head by following rules that were written by stuck up old men hundreds of years ago in dusty books that were rotting away in corners of libraries no one ever visited. She saw them as an excuse to inject fear in the hearts of their followers. And there she was, attending another sentence, standing by the sidelines as a scrawny young boy with dirty blonde hair and frostbite on his bony face was escorted by two armed guards towards Lord Stark.

She doubted the boy even needed escorts, he didn't seem to pay much attention to them anyway. He was busy muttering something under his breath. Something about White Walkers. He met Lord Stark in the eye and spoke his truth. Saying he knew he broke his oath, but he saw the White Walkers. He begged him to tell his family he was not a coward, and that he was sorry.

Odette sighed as Eddard drew an impotent sword, Ice, from a scabbard held by Theon Greyjoy, his other ward. He swore his service to the King, and sentenced the boy to die. He swung the sword not a minute later, and the blonde head was separated from the body. Odette couldn't help but look away at the hills, ignoring the blood that bathed the Valyrian steel blade.

When Lord Stark walked away to mount his horse, everyone else took the cue to do the same. She walked back to her horse and jumped on the saddle without much thought. "I still don't understand it." Theon Greyjoy said, he was also on his horse. "How can such a good little fighter such as yourself be upset by the sight of blood?"

She gripped the reins tighter, turning the horse's head towards the main road, but waiting for Eddard to take the lead. He was still talking to Bran. "The sight of blood does not upset me."

Theon laughed. "Aye,'right, don't need to pretend to be so strong all the time, it is only a woman's nature to despise violence."

"Keep talking that way and I will show you violence." She snarled, her eyebrows furrowed. He put his hands up in mocking surrender. Odette breathed shakily, she knew she needed to control her outbursts. She was often told that her lack of control would be her undoing one day, but she didn't know if Theon Greyjoy was the right person to confide her truth in. Still, he deserved as much. If there was one person in Winterfell who could at least sympathize with her feelings, it would be him. "The King's Justice, a harsh sentence for something as simple as being afraid of monsters."

"The boy took an oath, he broke it. He knew the consequences."

"He saw monsters and ran away, he was scared. He deserved a fair trial, at least." She argued.

They witnessed as Eddard took his horse to the main road back to the Keep and they followed. "And claim what? That he deserved to keep his life because he says he saw White Walkers? I would pay good gold to see that trial."

"Desperate men do crazy things." She muttered. They rode in silence for a minute before she decided to continue. "It would've been the fate of my father, had he stayed." Theon seemed confused for a moment, and she explained. "The King's Justice, I mean. And if my grandfather ever wanted to leave the Night's Watch, it would be his as well."

"If I remember correctly, your father traded slaves. That's a crime punishable by death."

"Poachers, and it was only once. But I'm not justifying his actions, all I'm saying is that there is no middle point. You either obey all the laws, no matter how harsh or stupid, or off goes your head."

Theon raised his eyebrows as they galloped through the woods, the bumpy road making them jump in their saddles. "You suggest we stop enforcing the laws? There would be mayhem."

Odette scoffed. "No, you…" She seemed to try to find the right words. She knew what she meant to say, but it sounded as if she simply hated following orders. "I read this somewhere, I don't remember where… When tyranny becomes law, rebellion becomes duty, or something like that."

"Rebelling against laws, eh?" The other ward laughed bitterly. "Look where that's got us." She opened her mouth, but closed it again. She didn't feel like discussing about failed rebellion with a Greyjoy, of all people.

A ray of sun brought tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away. She suddenly felt her clothes very heavy, her braided hair in knots all the way down her chest. Surely the Septa would scowl at her untidy appearance as soon as she laid eyes on her, and Sansa would roll her pretty blue eyes in distaste. The little Lady had never been too fond of Odette's… boyish antics. Odette thought the red-headed beauty needed to loosen up and live a little, or else she was prone to get early wrinkles, like her dearest mother.

Her horse came to a sudden halt when it couldn't go any further, the small party had stopped shy from the bridge at the sight of a stag's corpse. "Is that the same bloody beast I've been tracking for the past month?" She asked through clenched teeth, giving her black mare a kick so she came closer to the dead animal, but her question was answered as soon as she saw the arrow buried in the animal's side, as it had black feathers painted with rogue.

She jumped off her seat and wrinkled her nose when the putrid smell hit her, but she marched towards the body to retrieve her arrow anyway, mumbling something about wasting time under her breath, amongst other colorful curses.

Lord Stark had walked closer to the animal as well, noticing its belly ripped open, the insides spilled on the road and being feasted on by maggots. Jon Snow and the Greyjoy ward stopped by both his sides. "Mountain lion?" The ward asked.

"There are no mountain lions in these woods." Lord Stark muttered before leaving the main road to follow a trail of blood, his children and the rest of his men following close behind, swords drawn out to fight off the beast that killed the stag, if it came down to it. Odette sighed at the maimed body once again, frustrated that she'd wasted all those days following its trail on foot. Smart animal it had been, she had to give it that. Her horse was too loud and rather smelly for her to approach inconspicuously, so she'd done her best not to follow it with the wind against her, hoping for a clean shot of its neck. Unfortunately, the beast had heard her, running off to safety amongst the trees.

She followed the men, dragging her steps angrily; Jon hushed her when she reached his side, still mumbling in anger. "Oh, please, did you see the state of that animal? It's been dead for hours, whatever killed it must be long gone by now."

But it wasn't.

Right down the small hill that led to the creek, between mushy rocks and prominent roots, was the body of the biggest wolf she'd ever seen. Her eyes opened so big she believed they might come out of their sockets. An antler was pierced through the animal's throat, through and through. A small litter of puppies whimpering by its side.

"It's a freak." Theon Greyjoy announced.

"You're a freak," Odette pointed out, pushing him to get closer to the puppies. "These are direwolves."

The little animals cried softly, and Odette couldn't help but smile tiredly. She kneeled by the big wolf's side and took off her leather gloves, pocketing them inside her cloak. With bare hands, she allowed the one closest to her to get a scent of her fingers before she pet it, its thick grey fur being one of the softest things she'd ever touched.

Lord Stark grabbed the antler and pulled it. "Tough old beast."

"I was bested by a direwolf…" She murmured loudly, as if contemplating the taste of the defeat in her mouth.

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. "Getting a bit rusty, are we?"

She squinted her eyes at him, and then grabbed a pup by its belly, slowly, bringing it to her chest and petting it gently until it cried no longer. "Somehow I'm not angry." She said happily. The little pup must have agreed, because it licked her hand.

Robb, on the other hand, remained stern. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall."

"Now there are five," Jon declared, grabbing another one and putting it in Bran's arms. "You want to hold it?"

Bran looked at his brother with unsure eyes, but grabbed the pup anyway. "Where will they go? Their mother's dead."

"They don't belong here."

Lord Stark seemed to agree. "Better a quick death. They won't last without their mother."

Odette held the pup tighter when Theon was eager to pull his blade and go to grab it. "Right, give it here."

Little Bran cried out when Theon took the pup from his hands, and Robb ordered him to put away his blade. As Bran begged his father to change his mind, Odette began to give slow steps back up the hill, hoping that they would forget she was even there to begin with. When her pup whimpered, she winced as Lord Stark met her guilty expression with his own stern, grey eyes. "I'm sorry." He said.

Surely Odette hoped he had a better argument than that, if he wanted her to give up the pup to be sacrificed, but she couldn't just run off to the castle and hide it in her rooms forever. Although, she could try.

Luckily Jon Snow was better at political discussions than she was; the boy argued that the five pups were meant for the five Stark children, given that they were the sigil of their House. After meeting Jon's pleading brown eyes, even the Lord of Winterfell had to yield, ordering them to look after the pups, feeding them and caring for them instead.

Satisfied, Jon began passing the rest of the wolves, giving one to Robb, one to Bran, and, when he wanted to give one to Theon Greyjoy, Odette stopped him. "No way," she deadpanned, grabbing the wolf by its collar and handing it to Robb instead. "Take this one to Rickon, I'll take these two to the girls."

They walked away, Theon surely muttering what a bitch she was to a chuckling Robb. Little Bran, who trailed behind with Odette and Jon, asked: "What about you?"

Jon gave him a sad smile. "I'm not a Stark," he said, pushing him forward softly. "Get on."

Odette waited until the boy was a few steps ahead of them before she mumbled: "You're terribly hard on yourself, and that's something, coming from me."

"I just say it like it is."

"Still, from one bastard to another," she pushed his shoulder gently. Jon always noted she said the word 'bastard' as if she thought it was a joke, rather than an insult. "Cut yourself some slack, you look way prettier when you smile." His cheeks turned dark pink, and he fought a smile that still showed two handsome dimples on his cheeks. "There he is, the prettiest bastard in the entire North."

Odette laughed, making her way up the hill with care. If she fell with the pups in her arms, the girls would never forgive her for delivering damaged goods. She stopped mid way, realizing Jon Snow was not following behind her, and turned. He was now holding a little snow white pup in his hand, eyes red as blood. "The runt of the litter," she turned her head to see the rest of the party was also staring at the newest pop. "That one's yours, Snow."

"Theon? Be a dear and shut your hole," that brought a real, full smile to Jon's face. "Seems like destiny's trying to tell you something, Snow."

* * *

The Great Keep was… well, great indeed, not particularly in size, comparing to other castles in Westeros, but it was still sort of a maze. Her first years, Odette had lost her way and ended in parts of the stone castle she wasn't even sure really existed, or if they were all part of her imagination. Now, six years after her arrival, she knew it like the back of her hand. She also was good at finding Starks, wherever they were, and that's how she found Arya and Sansa; finishing their last lesson of the day with Septa Mondane. Sansa was playing the harp with elegant fingers, producing a beautiful melody, while Arya pulled the strings as if she wanted to rip them and be done with it.

She pushed the door and it creaked, drawing the attention of three ladies. "My dear, look at yourself." Septa Mondane scolded, taking in Odette's appearance. She had a vague idea of what she looked like, after a long day of sparing with the Stark lords, chasing down ghost stags, and riding horseback to watch men be decapitated, she suspected she'd seen better days. "You never did take my lessons to heart."

Odette managed to give the old woman a side smile. "They are well archived in here," she knocks her head playfully. "If it comes the day when I need them."

The woman in grey shook her head. "At what do we owe the interruption?"

Odette's face broke into a bright smile. "I have a surprise."

She turned around and grabbed the box she left behind the door, hidden from the girls' curious looks, and turned around, showing the two pups inside. Arya, already by the door, jumped in excitement, grabbing the box and putting it on the ground, allowing the two pups wander off the ground. Septa Mondane grabbed her skirts in bewilderment. "These beasts shouldn't be allowed inside castle walls!"

The young ward rolled her eyes. "By all means, have a word with Lord Stark, he's the one who instructed me to bring them to his children."

And off she went, of course, the old Septa left the room to find either the Lord or Lady of Winterfell, whoever was closest and willing to listen to her complaints. "Did he really?" Odette looked up to see Sansa looking at the pup who was pulling the fabric of her purple dress with interest, her Tully blue eyes full of awe, but her pose stiff as a twig. Odette often felt sorry for the girl, specially when she noticed her lack of sense of adventure. Arya, on the other hand, was already rolling around the dirty floor with her own pup.

The ward nodded. "He did, he commanded that all of the Stark children had one. Mind you, he also said you must train it, feed it, and bathe it yourself. It's a lot of work, caring for someone other than yourself."

At that, Sansa went to her knees at patted the creature gently on its head, smiling. "It's so pretty."

"They're both girls." Sansa and Arya looked at her. "They are, I checked."

Arya, still the curious one, raised hers to see between its legs. "Aye, definitely a girl."

Odette sat on the floor, petting the little animals often, or putting them back on the right direction when they got too close to the open door. Arya gave hers a little blanket to play with, and it was soon pulling one end with as much strength as its little body could muster. "So all of us get one?" Odette nodded, too distracted by the direwolf to care about much else. "Even Jon?" She nodded again.

Sansa scoffed as if she found it funny. "Of course not. Jon is not a Stark, he's a bastard."

"Mind your words. He's still your brother," Odette barked fiercely, but Sansa seemed confused, as if she didn't think what she said was wrong. "You share the same blood, at the very least, he deserves your respect."

"Well, of course you'd defend him," she said as a matter-of-factly, petting her direwolf's fur. "You're both bastards, and you're merely a ward, as much of an outsider as he is. Neither of you would ever really belong here."

To her credit, Sansa's eyes seemed to widen, as if she'd only just realized what just came out of her mouth, but she didn't correct herself. Arya was silent, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Odette's mind went back at the beheading of the boy. The faith of those who fled their places, of those who went against orders, those who dared step a foot out of the line. Those who posed a threat to the crown. Rebells. The voice of Lord Stark ordering to kill the pups because they wouldn't last without their mother…

Sansa pressed her lips together, waiting for her outburst. Odette Mormont didn't take kindly when someone called her names, specially not a bastard, but her mother had said many times that bastards are different, that they shouldn't be celebrated. Sansa knew she meant Jon Snow, given how her father treated him, but she didn't imagine Odette Mormont was any different. She expected cursing, a series blasphemies, or worse, but the girl simply stared at the distance, and absentmindedly touched her hair. Sansa suddenly found her silence much more scarier. Her eyes did always make her feel uneasy, as they were so dark they reminded her of those of a raven. Under the sunlight that crept through the window behind Sansa, she noticed for the first time that they were not black, but something like deep brown and golden. For a moment she thought that, if she looked very close, she could see flames dancing in there…

The Septa entered the room once again, out of breath. "Oh, girls! We must begin prepping you immediately!"

Odette was out of her trance in a heartbeat. "What's the matter?" She asked with worry.

The greying woman bowed her head solemnly, suddenly recovering her composure. "Well, if you must know, a raven just came from King's Landing. The King, his family, and their men are all marching North."

Both Arya and Odette jumped when Sansa squealed in a very unladylike manner, all giggles and laughter, asking Septa Mondane to help her fetch the best fabrics, since she would obviously be needing new dresses to present herself before the prince. The two of them left the room in a whoosh, Sansa's new pup following their ankles close behind.

The two remaining girls, and pup, seemed to deflate. Arya's long face already full of boredom, knowing she'll surely have to endure even more strict lessons on manners. Odette simply shook her head and stood up, dusting the back of her pants. "Well, you heard her, we must begin prepping."

Arya whined. "Oh, not you too."

"Oh yes, me too. First off, I'll need plenty more arrows."

At the mention of weapons, Arya stood up fast. "Arrows? What for?"

Odette smiled at her enthusiasm. Sometimes she worried she had influenced the youngest Lady of Winterfell a little too much. "Well," she crossed her arms over her front in the best impression of the stern Septa Mondane she could muster. "If you must know, putting arrows through things is a great way for a lady to blow off steam," she ended her charade with a chuckle. "Gods know how long it will be since we get back our peace and quiet."

"Can I help?" Arya asked eagerly.

She knew Arya had different duties than her, being a Lady of Winterfell in the making, but the girl was already a lost cause. Besides, she couldn't deny her a thing if she'd tried. "I don't see why not," She opened the door wide enough for Arya and her pup to march before her. "Let us show these poor, helpless beasts what we Northerners are made of."


	2. No Lady

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

Please read **Author's Note** at the end of the chapter.

* * *

I

No Lady

The Great Hall was a proper mess, so Odette had avoided it at all costs for the past month. In fact, she'd been avoiding mostly everyone who had anything to do with the preparations for the arrival of King Robert and his party, including, but not limited to, Lady Catelyn, Septa Mondane, Vayon Poole, and Maester Luwin. And the rest of the servants. And cooks. And even the stableboy. Safe to say, Odette had been pretty lonely since the raven arrived from King's Landing.

Before the rest of the Keep was awake, just a bird's chipper away from the sunrise, Odette was already sliding into her riding boots and a white linen shirt who'd seen better days under an open leather vest. She considered topping it with a coat, but the morning wasn't chilly enough for her to need it that badly. And the sun would be out soon enough, so why bother. She'd never minded the cold as much.

A deliberate glance at a glass in her chambers was taken to make sure her hair was in place. Odette wasn't a vain person; quite the opposite actually, but she still braided her hair appropriately to make sure nothing would catch the wrong person's attention. Luckily for her, everything was still in place. She yawned, slapping her cheeks to wake herself up. She considered taking a bath, but her clothes were clean enough, so she settled to wetting a cloth and rubbing her face with it. She rubbed her hands too, but a faint stain of black remained in her fingertips.

She reached for her archery gloves —which were really just her old horseback riding gloves with her pinky and thumb cut out— and headed for the door. As slowly as she tried to open it, it still flinched when she did. She winced, hoping she hadn't woken anybody, so she waited, hand still in the knob, but the Great Keep remained silent.

Still, she tiptoed through the stone floors as she passed the servant's chambers. The candles had long burned out, replaced by the subtle glow of the upcoming sun that was yet to rise from behind the East Gate. The armory's gate was always left open, from both the unwavering trust of Eddard Stark in his loyal people, and the constant weariness that battle could creep up on them in the middle of the night, so there was no time to find any keys. Odette found this very convenient for her, especially in early risings when she would need to fetch her stuff without being questioned.

Amongst a variety of sharp swords, maces, axes, and crossbows was her favorite bow. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship she'd had quite a hand in making, back when Bear Island was her home. A composed bow made of ash tree wood, standing like a sore thumb between the rest of the yew wood longbows. She grabbed it by the riser fondly. Although many have advised —or rather argued— that a composed bow wouldn't be as good a weapon as a longbow, she'd preferred the smaller shape that would easily rest across her back and not hit the bark of trees as she sneaked into narrow spaces, giving her away. She'd made up for the shorter string by tying its silk fiber strings tighter. It was harder to pull back all the way, at least for someone her size, but it gave the arrows a faster flight so, with the right arrowhead, they would pierce a bear's skin all the way to the bone.

After fetching two dozens of arrows, Odette jumped into the wide grounds of the courtyard, welcoming the fresh air of the morning into her chest. The dirt was wet with the mist of last night's rain, so her steps were muffled in the mud. She walked past the Guest House, but she couldn't see the inside in the dark. She guessed it was dusted off and the beds wore flesh linens, no doubt in black and yellow, to honor the King.

On her way to the Hunter's Gate, she passed the empty kennels. The direwolves had slept there for about two nights until the cries of the Stark children had forced Lady Catelyn to allow them to sleep in their chambers. Well, not all of the direwolves anyway, Odette remembered hearing muffled barks coming from the chambers of Jon Snow. It was clear the Lady of Winterfell didn't care enough for the bastard of her husband to watch for his safety, in case the wolves were rabid or something.

A soft growling let her know her stomach was empty, so she was eager to get to the Wolfswood and find something fresh to eat. No doubt the cooks would be too busy readying the King's Welcome Feast to give her something. If she even tried to grab one of the recently polished cutlery, she would get a warning hit by a wooden spoon on her fingers. It had seemed good enough of a warning to Theon Greyjoy, who'd tried to get a taste of a fresh batch of fluffy brown oatbread. She wouldn't make his mistake.

She breathed out warm air that came out of her mouth in clouds like smoke, looking down to her hands as she put on her gloves when she heard light steps behind her. She turned her head slightly to see Arya Stark still in her bed-gown, which was now getting dirty at the hem.

Arya rubbed the sleep away from her eyes as she looked up at Odette. "Where are you going? It's so early."

Odette took two steps towards her and leaned over, resting her hands on her knees so she was closer to Arya's height. Not that she towered over her that much. Even Sansa was an inch or two shy of reaching Odette's height. "Exactly, it's early. You should be in bed, saving your energies for today."

Rolling her eyes at the reminder, Arya peeked behind Odette, seeing the quiver hanging from her back. "Can I come with?" And she gave her the same pleading look she must've used with Lady Catelyn when she begged that her wolf, Nymeria, was allowed to sleep on her bed.

Odette didn't yield as easy, so she opened her mouth to give her a lame excuse as to why she couldn't come with, but closed it when she saw a shadow of red behind Arya.

Not far in the distance, Sansa Stark lurked in the edge of the Guesthouse, right where the stone floor ended and the dirt began. She kept her shoes in the stones, not trying to mess up her nightdress. Her red hair was braided behind her head, eyes drowsy. "Lady Stark." Odette greeted her with a tilt of her head. "You should be resting."

Sansa eyed her younger sister with wariness. "Arya, come, we must begin getting ready for the King."

"It's too bloody early." Arya groaned. Odette pressed her lips to suppress a smile. "Besides, I'm sure the King would smell worse than we do."

The redhead's ears turned red as beets. "Never mind that, we must give your Grace a good impression. The Septa would be upset if we're not in bed when she comes to find us."

She never thought she'd agree with Sansa, but Odette nodded her head at the younger girl. "She's right you know, no matter who we are, today you are expected to be a proper lady, like your sister and your mother." Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Odette continued. "And, I don't know if I'll be back by the time the King arrives. Imagine how disappointed your father might be if you're not presented to your Grace with the rest of his children. He'll want to show you off, I'm sure of it."

Odette looked down at the dirty gown and frowned. She then ordered Arya to step on the tips of her boots, which she did, and marched backwards towards the clean floor. Arya chuckled, and Odette happily delivered her to her sister's side. "Off you go then."

Arya nodded and ran back off to her chambers, meeting her wolf midway. The thing had grown several times its size since they found it, and it followed Arya like a tame pup. Odette expected Sansa to follow behind, but she hesitated, nervous fingers picking at her nails. "Everything alright?" Odette asked out of pure courtesy. The two of them hadn't exchanged words since the girl had spoken some cruel words to her, the day they'd found about the King's visit.

Sansa shook her head. "I must apologize for my behavior, Lady Mormont. I was in no place to speak such things about you. It was disrespectful of me."

Despite herself, Odette chuckled bitterly. "Never apologize for things you don't mean, Sansa."

"But I do mean it! Despite being, you know," Sansa almost choked trying to find the right word to describe her, so she merely gestured at her, up and down, to make her point, "you're still a noble Lady, and I shouldn't have spoken to you with such language."

"Sansa, I've known you since you were not much older than Rickon is now. And not a day has passed that you don't look down on me for who you think I am…"

"You're a legitimate child of a Lord…"

"Only by ink and paper, you still think of me as a bastard. And that's alright. If I cared about everyone's opinion, I'll spend the day locked in my room, crying my eyes out."

"But still, I'm really sorry that I…"

"Are you sorry that you called Jon a bastard, too?" Sansa shut her mouth and looked up at Odette, who was momentarily thankful that she was still a bit taller than the young Lady. She scoffed, disappointed. "See? You're not sorry you said it, you're sorry you were caught." The redhead seemed to be struggling to come up with something to defend herself. Odette always thought her blue eyes were pretty telling, almost as if she could see her mind working through the water's surface. Still, she knew she was still a child, the same age she was when was taken to Winterfell, a short six years earlier, so she cut her some slack. "Go on and bathe, it must take you hours to get your hair to look pretty enough to impress the Queen."

Odette turned her back on the young girl and began marching to the stables, where her black mare was already waking. "You're really not coming to greet his Grace?"

The brunette smiled, eyes locked in the magnificent wooden door she'd need to climb to get to the woods. "Not empty-handed."

* * *

The day had turned into night and the Southerners had invaded Winterfell like a plague. Wherever he saw were banners of gold and crimson, shiny armors and colorful dresses that dragged in the dirt. It was almost as if they did it on purpose, to make them feel lesser than them, with their jewels that reflected the lights and their polished helmets with intricate designs. Jon Snow swung his sword angrily at the sack of hay, imagining it was a soldier of flesh and bone.

The sounds of music and roaring laughter could be heard coming from the Great Hall, he hit the sack harder, hoping to muffle the noise of the party. "Is he dead yet?"

Jon turned around to see Benjen Stark jumping off his horse with the help of a bored sentry. "Uncle Benjen!" He called with a big smile that was matched with that of his father's brother.

He hugged him tightly, the fur of his black cloak tickling his recently shaven face. He suddenly wondered why would Lady Catelyn want him to be presentable if he was not to be presented before the King. "You got bigger! I rode all day. Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters. Why aren't you at the feast?" Jon's smile disappeared as he explained to his uncle that Lady Stark thought his presence would be an insult to the royal family, and Benjen pressed his lips in a pitiful smile. "Well, you're always welcome on the wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Jon Snow's heart suddenly felt a little lighter. "So take me with you when you go back."

"Jon…" Uncle Benjen began, already regretting giving his nephew such ideas, but was cut off by Jon's enthusiastic begging.

"Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will."

"The Wall isn't going anywhere."

"I'm ready to swear your oath."

Benjen's silver eyes shone like a blade tilted against the moonlight. "You don't understand what you'd be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons."

The boy sighed, catching a glimpse of a drunken man grabbing a woman by the waist and sitting her on his knee. "I don't care about that."

"You might, if you knew what it meant…"

The neigh of a horse startled him, since he'd been too busy giving his uncle his best pleading eyes. Crossing the Hunter's Gate came Odette Mormont, his father's elder ward, dragging a large black mare by the reins and looking like she'd been dragged through the entire Wolfswood. Twice. Her tired face was covered in dirt and traces of blood, and her shirt was more black than white.

The sound of plates breaking caught her attention towards the Main Hall. "If you're here for the feast, m'lady, you've quite missed it."

She rolled her eyes at Jon's cocky comment. "What will I ever do?" She got closer to the pair and suddenly Jon's nose wrinkled when he got the smell of something dead. "All black, grey eyes, you must be Benjen Stark." She extended her hand, wrapped around the knuckles in dirty cloths, but Jon's uncle shook it nonetheless.

"Aye, that's right, Lady…" he trailed, waiting for her to drop a name.

Odette hit Jon in the shoulder. No lady, just Odette is fine."

"She's Lady of Bear Island."

"My aunt," she announced with disdain. "is the lady of Bear Island. I'm just a Ward."

Benjen frowned. "You're the granddaughter of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Odette shrugged, untying something big from its ropes over the horse's back. "I guess."

"You just saved me a lot of trouble. I was supposed to look for you. I have a message from your grandfather."

She seemed to be struggling to get the package from over the horse, as it was almost as high as her head. Jon felt the urge to help her, but he knew he would get nothing but a death stare if he even suggested she couldn't do it on her on, so he stayed by the sides, ready to jump in and help when the thing fell on top of her. "Oh Gods, so he really doesn't know how to send a raven," she grunted, out of breath, letting the thing fall on the ground. The mare made a sound of relief. "and here I was, thinking it was only me he couldn't bother to write. How silly."

The thing was wrapped in a cloak —hers, most likely, and it smelled nasty. She uncovered it and Jon finally saw the origin of the smell. It was a medium-sized doe, with two arrow holes; one embedded in the middle of the neck, and one that went higher, where the neck met the head. He guessed the second one was the killer shot. "Pretty impressive." Benjen complimented.

"Not quite," she growled, working the ropes around its body with difficulty, still keeping it in a bed of cloth so it wouldn't touch the ground. "I was chasing this beautiful stag, all day long until sundown. Not as big as the one we saw that day," she eyed Jon when she said it, and he knew she meant the deer that was killed by the direwolf. "but still. It was dark when I caught trail of this one. I was hoping I could make it before dinner but…" She mumbled something unintelligible as she finished tying it up, ending with a big handle in her hands. "Breakfast it is."

Jon took the reins of the mare and handed them to the sentry. "I'm sure the King would like venison stew."

"I hope he chokes on a bone." The sentry stopped dead on his feet and looked at her with wide, offended eyes. She gave him a questioning look for a good minute before she realized what she just said. "I was kidding. Gods, learn to take a joke. You can leave now," the sentry went to take the mare back to the stables in the back. "And don't give her too much water, she already drank plenty, and she won't be able to sleep well if her hay is full of piss."

"I'm sure he knows how to handle a horse."

Odette seemed to disagree. She took off her heavy vest, ending up in her simple filthy shirt. She got rid of the quiver, still pretty full of clean arrows, save three; one with a bent tip, and the other two with stains of blood. She left everything on the fence of the armory and walked back to her kill, eyeing Benjen with wariness. "Help me carry this to the kitchen, you can tell me about the Old Bear on our way."

Jon's uncle smirked at her bossy tone of voice, but he grabbed one end of the rope and helped her pull. "As you wish, my Lady."

Jon smiled as he heard her cursing at his uncle until they were out of earshot, not realizing he was being watched from the shadows by the infamous imp of House Lannister.

"So," she continued after she was done with discussing titles —and lack thereof. "What does the Old Bear deem so important it must be told in person?" And not by him, of course, she refrained to add. Gods forbid the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch left his tower to see her. She knew she sounded childish, but she hated how the people that shared her name would turn their backs on her like she was nothing.

Benjen Stark spoke with a hushed voice as they headed to the kitchen. "Your grandfather said word's got to him from a reliable source that your father was seen in Pentos."

"Pentos is a port of merchants, you'll think he has to make a living somehow." She said conversationally, but Benjen Stark saw the tick of a muscle in her clenched jaw. He attributed it to the weight they were dragging, so he tried to carry the most part.

"I believe your grandfather worries about how he's planning on making that living."

"I'm sure he's already learned his lesson," she countered. "besides, slavery is illegal in Pentos."

Benjen looked down at her with interest. "You know a great deal about the Free Cities." She avoided his eyes, so he changed the subject. "Besides, it's not about whether or not he's back to trading slaves." He stopped shy of the kitchen doors, which were blocking the panicked mumbling of the cooks. Odette could do nothing but raise her chin to meet his stare with her own look of defiance in her dark eyes. "There's rumor that Viserys Targaryen and his sister Daenerys are in Pentos." Odette's eyes hardened. "It's not an accusation, far from it, but people can draw their own conclusions."

"Oh, as he did?" She snarled, twirling the rope around her wrist and pulling the doe harder, pushing the kitchen's doors with her back until they were wide open. No one seemed to notice the intrusion, as everyone was already too drunk or too busy getting drunk. Or too busy getting the guests drunk. "I'm certain Jorah is not the only Westerosi in Essos, those are far fetched accusations."

"Please, listen," Benjen grabbed her arm, not pressing, but enough to make her stop on her feet. "Your grandfather is worried. If people begin to think that your father is siding with the children of the Mad King…"

Odette slips away from his weak hold, looking offended. "If Jeor was truly worried, he should've told me himself." She held one shaky finger high up in his face. "Not even one letter, in six years. That's how much they care."

She called for two of the cooks to skin the kill and stew it with onions and the spent grain from the beer. They took the animal away and she sat by the table, unwrapping her hands from the dirty cloth. Benjen sighed, finally realizing how young she really looked under the light of the fire. Jeor had told him to look for his eighteen —or was it nineteen?— year old grandchild. When he saw the grimy woman dragging a horse with her kill, she'd seemed older than that; but as she wiped her face clean, he saw that what he thought were wrinkles turned out to be lines of sweat and dirt. She didn't have the plump face of a child, but rather high, elegant looking cheekbones, full lips that were chapped by the crisp breezes, and big eyes as dark as they came. He also thought she looked absolutely nothing like the Lord Commander Mormont.

"All I ask you is to be careful." She looked up from her hands, giving him a look of distrust from under her thick lashes. "These are not your grandfather's words, but mine. The King is here, and if he thinks you or your father have anything to do with the Targaryens, well…"

He didn't want to finish his sentence, but he also knew he didn't have to. Odette's eyes traveled to the fire underneath a large pot, watching as the flames licked the dark grey metal. She touched her hair, as if without much thought, and twirled one finger at the end of the messy braid. It was the first girly gesture he'd seen her make.

Benjen took pity on the girl, so he tapped her shoulder. "I don't suppose you can help me find my brother?"

She nodded, tilting her head as if to order him to follow, and Benjen obliged.

* * *

So this is just the first half of the first chapter, which I intended to post as a whole, but the little shit is just driving me nuts, and I had to post this before I began my descent into madness, so here it is. The previous part is meant to be sort of a prologue? I guess. Don't quote me. I just wanted to get this out there asap. As you can see, there's a lot of straight-up GoT scenes in here, but please be patient. I try only include scenes that directly related to the story's plot. Mind you, is GoT, but in the late part of the first season we will get to see original scenes and dialogue, and development of certain connections. Also, I rely a lot on both the show and books because Odette's own history connects to a lot of other characters, as you can see, so I need to show certain reactions of hers. Next chapter (which will probably be about as short as this one, longer chapters will come) will surely show the second part of the first episode and Odette's first run into the Kingslayer, but keep in mind this is a slowburn, so don't expect them to be best friends right away. In fact, be prepared to be extremely thirsty for the first whole season, since the fun begins in S2. Any theories so far? Let me know! I'll try to update once a week at least! -Nicole, the helpless writer.


	3. The Boy, The King, The Bloody Bear

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

* * *

II

The Boy, The King, and the Bloody Bear

The walk from the kitchen to the Great Hall was not long, but it dragged in their silence, seldom interrupted by the laughter of the King's guests. Drunk people stumbled through the passages in their best clothes, and you could tell the Northerners from the Southerners just by the vibrant colors of their clothes, or the way the ladies did their hair. Even Benjen had made sure he wore his best pants, and that his cloak was clean, but his Lord Commander's granddaughter didn't seem to find her roughed appearance as she opened the doors from the back of the room and grimaced as the smell of food and spilled ale hit them in the face.

The pair scanned the crowd, looking for the Lord of Winterfell, and it was Benjen who found him first, standing by a column in the middle of the Hall, his eyes set on his family's table, where his Lady wife was making weak attempts at conversation with the Queen.

Odette stayed behind them, getting her first look at the Queen. She stood out from the multitude, that was certain, but not only because of her elaborate hairdo, rolled up in some intricate design that resembled bird's nests in both round shape and the color of hay, or her dress of gold with red straps that crossed over her prominent chest and went around her neck like a horse's reins, but because she seemed to be the only person who was not having fun. Her eyes were set on something in the crowd, the same way a falcon watches over a helpless rat in an open field. Odette followed her gaze to find a large man in a golden crown, groping a delighted maid with a full body and open cleavage, and she guessed that was the famous King Robert.

She felt something bitter rise within her throat, and her heart began pounding excessively hard inside her chest, her palms became damp with sweat, and she had to wipe them in her shirt. Even from a distance, she could hear his laughter, as if it was an echo in an empty castle.

Her attention was brought back to the conversation between the brothers when she heard Lord Stark ask his brother about the boy he'd beheaded, if he knew him. Both agreed it was probably a Wildling ambush, and Odette crossed her arms, tilting her head as if to better hear what they were saying, above the rest of the noise.

"But justice was served, wasn't it?" She grumbled, drawing both men's attention back to her. "Two rangers are missing and the other was executed for being afraid, but it's what the King would've wanted."

Before Lord Stark could speak, his eldest son Robb came with a big smile. "Uncle Benjen!"

"Robb boy, how are ye?"

Odette gave the two a forced smiled that was everything but polite. "I'll leave you to it."

"No, wait…" She only managed to take two steps away from the crowd when Lord Eddard grabbed her by the arm. "What is the matter with you?"

Feeling offended by his question, she half-concealed herself behind one of the pillars before she pulled her arm from his hold. As reckless as she was, she knew she could get an unwanted reputation if people saw her talking back to the Warden of the North. "Nothing, absolutely nothing, how could there be? The King's in town, the people rejoice, and deserters are being killed off like cattle. We must feast!"

"Deserters, what are you…" Eddard's face turned soft when he realized. "You're not angry because of the boy from the Night's Watch. Does this have anything to do with your parents? Or the Lord Commander? My brother did mention me he was encouraged to bring you a message…" Odette opened her mouth, but Lord Stark did not give her a chance to talk back. "Mind you, I have no interest in knowing what it was. It's a family matter and I will respect that. But I believe I have the right to know what's caused you to react in such a way."

She sighs, leaning against the pillar for support. She suddenly feels so tired she could lay down on the dirty floor and sleep through the entire feast unbothered. "Nothing…" She lies. She turns her head and catches another glimpse at the drunk King. "Everything. The boy, the King, the bloody bear…"

"Is he alright?" She gave him a confused look. "Your father I mean, I hope the news was not…"

She shifted her weight so her left side was leaning against the pillar, from that point she had a better view of the main table, where Sansa was speaking to the Queen. Coincidentally, her back was turned so she wouldn't have to look at King Robert. "Gods no, he's alive, far as I know. I guess we'll find out soon enough…"

"Your name day is soon," she barely nodded, focused on how grim Lady Catelyn suddenly looked. "You'll be turning, what? Seventeen?"

"Nineteen, actually."

Lord Stark had the decency to look sorry. "My apologies, when you have so many children, it's hard to keep up with the name days."

"You're not my father." She turned her head away from the main table and looks at him in the eye. Despite being significantly shorter than him, Lord Eddard noticed she seemed to hold herself like she was ten feet tall. Her dark eyes gleamed like bonfires under the light of the torch above them. "My father was a lovesick imbecile and my mother… He was a fool, and I've spent my entire life paying for his mistakes, even now I…" Her voice became smaller as she went, until it turned into a whisper, and lost into a breath of air.

Lord Stark straightened his back and put a comforting hand over her shoulder. "Now what, Odette?"

She fiddled with the waistband of her breeches, and suddenly the floor seemed to be more interesting than Lord Stark's face. The man in question sure began to fear for the worst. In the years he'd known Odette Mormont he'd never found her one to hold her tongue, so it worried him that she was clearly keeping something from him.

On her side, Odette was contemplating whether or not she should come clean to Eddard Stark. It was an awful time, to begin with, with the King in Winterfell. She knew the Lord as a just man, loyal and forgiving, but even with all those good qualities, she wasn't sure she could trust him with something that important.

Lucky for her, she wouldn't have to decide just yet. A man suddenly approached Lord Stark and his attention was away from her. She let out the air she didn't realize she'd been holding and crossed her arms to avoid rolling her thumbs. Instead, she faced the main table and lost herself in thought, letting Lord Stark forget about his questioning.

It was somewhat of a burden, knowing the things she did. One time she thought secrets held power, but she found it was more like holding the rope that kept a guillotine from your exposed neck. For her, it was always hard to keep secrets, to watch out for every word she said to keep the truth from rolling from her tongue, but she'd grown to be accustomed to lying. She'd go remarkable distances to keep herself alive.

Looking back at Lord Stark, she found him to be exchanging what seemed to be threatening whispers with a different man. This one held himself with his chin high in the air as if him being half a head taller than the Lord of Winterfell wasn't enough. He had an arrogant half-smile and his golden hair was cleanly brushed away from his face. She thought he was good-looking, in a way that it reminded her of the stories of loving princes and knights in shiny armors that Sansa would often ramble about, and how they were described as if they were flawless.

The ridiculous thought of a grown man looking pretty enough to be pulled from a child story's description made her chuckle. The usual sound drew the attention of both the Lord and the newcomer, and she covered her mouth with her hand and covered her laughter with a hardly believable cough. "My apologies, my Lord," she rectified herself. "If you'll excuse me…" She pointed at the path between the two men and didn't wait to be actually excused before the walked through, heading for a large cask of what she hoped was wine. She'd heard Lady Catelyn had given her blessing for the good wine to be served early during the night and soon replaced with the cheap one, saying by the time they'd make the switch everyone would be too drunk to notice.

She sniffed the inside, knowing it would've been too great to hope they'd served Firewine. She tasted it once before, during one of Lady Catelyn's name day celebration, a red so sweet and easy to drink she hadn't realized its punch until she woke the next morning, sleeping outside a bakery in a shady part of town. The one inside the cask wasn't even wine, but a half good Ale. She supposed it was for the best. The North wasn't known to have the best wines, but right now she just wanted to get really drunk and forget about the horrible day she'd had, so ale would do the trick.

Someone sat on the seat in front of her. "Pour me a cup of that."

She looked up to see the man who'd been talking to Lord Stark. He wasn't looking in her general direction, too busy glaring at the main table. "You're talking to me?" She had to ask since the man didn't seem to be even aware of her presence.

He turned his head with a slightly offended look taunting his handsome features. "D'you see any other servants at this table?"

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around her cup. She fought the urge to throw the drink at his face but thought better of it. There was so much she could get away with before facing consequences, and she wouldn't be pushing her luck that early during the King's stay.

Instead of giving to her murderous urges, she reached for another empty cup and began pouring a drink. "I'm not a servant."

"Oh?" He frowned. "What are you then? I saw you talking to Lord Stark. Are you another one of his bastards? His whore?" His lips broke into a mocking smirk. "Both?"

She reminded herself that she was in a very public place and her sword was in the armory. Was it possible to commit murder using nothing but a block of cheese and a chicken's leg? She was eager to find out. "Ned can be many things but unfaithful isn't one of them," she looked at Lord Stark, who was exchanging words with his lady wife, who seemed way more calm in his presence. "he loves Catelyn."

That seemed to spark the man's curiosity for some reason, he rested his hands on the table as his full attention was now on the grim looking girl in front of him. "On a first name basis with the Lord of Winterfell, my, you got quite the nerve. What's your name, girl?"

She looked at him as if she expected him to be joking. "None of your business."

"Odette!" Someone called from one of the tables at the front and her head whipped in instinct to see Robb Stark, clean-shaven and looking angry about something from his place next to an amused Theon Greyjoy, also lacking facial hair, looking more groomed than Odette had ever seen him.

In front of her, the golden-haired man looked smug. "Quite the name, can't say I'm familiar with it."

"Can't say I care."

"You did not ask for mine."

She couldn't tell the reason he seemed so entertained, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of asking for his name, she raised the second cup of ale she'd poured and pushed it in his chest, softly enough so it wouldn't spill, but hard enough to surprise him. He grabbed with fast reflexes.

"No, I did not."

She walked away from the man and walked towards Robb and Theon, the former was giving nasty looks to the man behind her. Not wanting to poke that bear, she sat at the edge of the table —ignoring Sansa's scoff— blocking his view to the man and also allowing her to lean over to Theon's side and stealing a biscuit. It was still soft and warm, and she decided she'll want to have something to throw up in the morning rather than simply curse herself as she gagged her empty guts out. She'd been there many times, and it was not a pleasant experience.

"You summoned me, my lord." She said with a gleam of mockery in her eyes as she bit a piece of the biscuit, delighted to find it was every bit as fresh and buttery as it looked. "Did you talk to Benjen?" she asked with a full mouth, slightly checking to make sure the Septa Mondane wasn't looking.

"What were you doing?" He asked, making sure his hand was nowhere near her leg. She found his perfect manners amusing.

She put her cup in front of his face before she led it to her mouth. "I'm starving." She gulped down some ale to swallow the biscuit, which she later found was a little dry. "Spent the entire day chasing that beast through the Wolfswood."

"I meant talking to him."

"Ser pretty-face back there? Oh Robb, you know I only have eyes for you." She said with a dreamy voice and pinched his cheek. He slapped her hand away. "Besides, he was kind of a cunt." Odette decided as she went to give a long chug of the ale.

Theon leaned over with a grin. "Ser pretty-face is no other than the Kingslayer."

It was Robb's turn to laugh when her eyes opened in shock and she put the drink away, coughing out. Her face was red as she fought to get the spicy drink out of her lungs. "You're really not putting on a good show with the royal family." He eyed to his mother's side, watching Queen Cersei give the eldest ward a look of disapproval.

Not that his family was making a greater impression, because a moment later he heard his sister Sansa squeal. "Arya!" Her porcelain cheek was splattered with pigeon pie, and his littlest sister was laughing from her seat. He laughed even more at his sister's cries, her friend making a good effort to wipe her face clean. Between that, and Odette's muffled coughs, his night went much better than he expected.

But his mother would soon end his fun because she urged him with her big blue eyes to do something about Arya. He cut his laughter in an instant and went to grab his little sister, who was already making another projectile to land on Sansa's face, no doubt.

He took her from under her arms and lift her from her seat. "Time for bed." He commanded, and Arya only protested a little, before she saw the stern look on her mother's face. Robb whoever, gave her a resigned look as he let her fall on her feet, giving her a little push to lead the way. "You coming?" He asked Odette as the two of them passed her. "Lately she listens to you more than she does to me."

Arya nodded vehemently. "I do."

But Odette was too focused on her cup. "Go on, I need another drink."

* * *

So, ehem, happy GOT day! This chapter wasn't half ready, but the season premiere inspired me to finish it and publish it at once. So mind errors, please. I'm incredibly excited for the new season. I know it will be heartbreaking, but hey, if it goes wrong, we'll always have the damn books, if GRR moves his ass. I went back and put a disclaimer on the first chapter and will continue to do so and blah blah. As always, do let me know your theories for the future, and what did you think about Jaime's introduction! This is truly not the love-at-first-sight you might've expected, but I'll try to make it as believable as possible. Do comment on anything on my PM or drop a review, discuss GOT, the fic, anything! Lots of hugs, Nicole.


	4. Don't Play for Anyone's Team

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intelectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

* * *

III

Don't Play for Anyone's Team

* * *

There was one time she remembered, way back when she had felt like an intruder in the Stark's Great Keep, where she woke up to Lady Catelyn's hushing. It was comforting, she supposed, and she only remembered it because it was the first time she felt the gentle touch of a mother. Her own mother she could barely remember, with her dark hair like raven's feathers and smile so soft she felt it could cure every disease at once, and Lady Hightower had never once held her in her arms like Lady Catelyn did that night. She had never cried in her sleep before she was in the Great Keep, but it was during her first nights that it happened. Her grandfather had probably warned Lord Stark about her night terrors, but she guessed their Maester had advised against giving her the medicine she asked for. They probably took her for an addict, believed she would turn into one of those ghostly apparitions that wandered around the towns after the sun came down, begging for coppers to buy Water of Opium. It wasn't until a piercing scream broke the silence in the dead of the night that they decided to believe her. Her medicine had been provided to her without further questions every night after that.

The Maester, however, had advised her two things; the first was to put three —and no more than three— drops into a big cup of water to drink before she went to bed. The second thing he told her after she turned fifteen and began to indulge in wine and ale, and it was to never do so in excess, or else the medicine wouldn't work as efficiently.

And of course, she wouldn't want that!, she thought as much when she was fifteen, why would she ever go against a Maester's suggestions just to do something as silly as drinking wine, if it had such a nasty taste?

But of course one could not stay fifteen years old forever, and Odette's taste had been refined over the four years that followed. And the child she was back then didn't think there would be a time she'd desperately need to pass out drunk and forget herself. The Odette of the present wasn't one to be level-headed, but she wasn't one to frequent brothels either. And especially not to wake up screaming in a whore's bed.

Soft hands cradled her face, not as bony as those of Lady Catelyn, and a sweet voice called her name in whispers. She felt the hands wipe hair away from her sweaty face, and she opened her eyes slowly, wincing as she felt as if she was looking straight at the sun.

"Hush now, you're going to scare the clientele away." The sun spoke, only it wasn't the sun, but it was easy to tell the two of them apart. The whore had hair red as a blazing fire that appears to glow, and her face is round and lovely, but not hard to look at. "There she is, you had me worried for a moment."

Odette's head was spinning, and her mouth was a dry paste. It felt as if she forgot to form words, so she could only make a slurred sound that resembled that of a birthing cow. The red-headed prostitute laughed. "Take it easy, do not sit too quickly."

But the girl did not listen. In fact, there was a ringing in her ears that silenced everything but the loud thumping of her heart. So she sat on her butt as soon as she got the chance, pushing heavy drapes of worn fur away from her chest. She found she was still in her hunting clothes, save her vest and her boots, and her shirt was open in the middle revealing far too much that she'd usually show, yet the had no time to tie the slit back together when she felt something rise in her throat.

She pushed the woman from her lap and stumbled out of the bed, knocking the candles off a table, and she fell to her knees and emptied her stomach in a basin half full of water. Her eyes watered and her nose ran as she continued to gag until there was nothing but a sour aftertaste and yellow spit coming out of her mouth, but still, she sat on the floor and hugged the basin like it was her dearest possession.

Back in bed, the woman crossed her legs, the slit of her robe revealing long legs that were made to be wrapped around a man's waist and breasts bigger than anything an even a King could dream of. "My, you truly are stubborn as a mule." Odette raised an eyebrow over her heavy eyes and opened her mouth to tell her to shut it, but another violent gag made her double over the basin and moan. "You need to put something in that stomach."

The woman stood up and walked over to a table further into the room, and came back to Odette's side with a large piece of bread and a cup. She went to her knees and offered the girl some food, and Odette could've been a prideful bitch, but she also knew when to yield, so she took the bread in her shaky hand and bit into it.

"Slow bites… That's a girl." The woman patted her head as if she was feeding a pet, and left the cup by her side before she went to the elegant vanity by the bedside and began brushing her rusted curls, eyeing Odette through her looking-glass. "I take it this is your first time getting drunk."

Odette took the cup and smelled its insides. It was Sweetwine. "First time getting this drunk." She filled her mouth with the drink and swished it inside her mouth, rinsing her tongue and teeth before spitting it into the basin. "Not sure I like it." Her voice came out hoarse, but then again, she'd never had the sweet tune other ladies raved about. Hers was raspy and low, and she was discouraged by the Septa to ever open her mouth with the intention of singing, in fear she would scare off little children.

"You seemed to like it quite well last night."

The ward eyed her with suspicion, chewing another bit of bread. "Please, Ros, do elaborate, you seem as if you're eager to tell me what a fool I made of myself."

"Well, you almost knocked the door down and tried to force yourself on little ole' me. Me, of course, couldn't fight my primitive urges as I allowed you to ravish my body until sunrise."

Odette rolled her eyes and swallowed. It was a welcome surprise that she didn't feel as if she wanted to vomit any longer, but her head still ached. "My apologies, my lady, it was very inappropriate of me to take your precious virtue away from your future lord husband, may The Seven intervene for my soul."

Ros turned back to face Odette. "I thought you didn't believe in The Seven."

"Well, if it's not the Smith hammering my brains out, then I don't know whose God I've angered now." She groaned, massaged her temple.

"You speak blasphemy." Ros giggled.

"I speak a lot of things. You, for once, could do so a little quieter, I fear my head's about to blow."

"That'll teach you not to drink on an empty stomach." Odette looked up just in time to get a wet cloth throw to her face. It smelled faintly of lavender oil. "Clean yourself, I need to get to work soon, and so do you."

Odette shot her a nasty look but began wiping the sweat from her face and neck. "Pretty early for work, won't you agree?" She said, eyeing the way the sun angled inside from the window. People would be up already, but certainly not for much else than break fast.

Ros put some rogue in her plump cheeks and tied her hair in a pretty braid. "The King's men are hungry little things, and most of them have never had a Northern woman before."

"But this early in the morning?" Odette groaned.

"It shouldn't come as a surprise that men from all over Westeros are willing to line up to have their way with me."

"Really?" Odette asked cheekily as she stood up slowly, taking her precious basin with her just in case. "Last I heard, Jon Snow shagged ass from your chambers after you flashed him your tits."

Ros' cheeks turned even redder, but she smiled. "How dare you. I drag your drunk little ass away from the Wolfswood and let you sleep in my bed and this is how you pay me?"

Odette shrugged, opening the window and emptying the basin outside as she gives her a half-assed glanced. "Alright, I'm sorry, you have pretty nice tits. Happy?"

The whore shimmied her shoulders, making her breasts bounce under her sheer tunic. "Uh, are you playing for the other team now?"

Dropping the empty basin, Odette grabs the cup and empties the rest of the Sweetwine in her mouth. She gargles rather loudly before she spits the liquid far outside the window. "Sorry love, I don't play for anyone's team but mine."

* * *

Jon Snow woke early the morning after the Feast to watch the sons of Houses Stark and Baratheon spar from a distance. For a minute, he hoped he would get to see how the skills of the King's children compared to those of his half-siblings, but all he got for his trouble was a very uncomfortable seat on the sill to watch Robb disarm the young Prince Joffrey several times before the golden-haired boy began to make excuses for himself. It was quite the show match before Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms padded Prince Tommen and Bran and encouraged them to have a friendly game.

The bastard rested his chin on his knee and watched the yard with boredom. He wished the King and his family would pack their trucks and march back South already, so Winterfell could go back to normal.

His head perked up when he saw a new movement. A small figure stumbled into the yard. He recognized Odette's dark locks, Lord Stark's first ward, and also the eldest. He didn't quite remember the first time they'd been introduced —he was barely eleven at the time, and she was thirteen, that was the last time they'd been the same height as well.— but he was glad she was there, despite both of their circumstances.

Jon watched as she was intercepted by Robb and Theon, who grabbed her by the arm and pointed at the fight between the two young kids with mockery. She said something and Robb's face filled with worry. She slapped Theon's hand away softly and went to walk away, but Ser Rodrik caught her eye.

The two of them argued in hushed voices, Ser Rodrik always keeping an eye on the children. Truth be told, Odette never had a good relationship with people of authority. Jon never knew why; she just arrived like that from Bear Island. He guessed it was more as if she didn't like to be told what to do.

* * *

Odette crossed her arms and stomped her foot before she walked back to Robb and Theon, where she sat on the dirt with her back against the brick wall and closed her eyes, leaning her head in an awkward angle against her shoulder. It seemed to Jon like she wanted to get some sleep.

From his place at the yard, Theon Greyjoy looked up to see a clueless Jon staring at the drunken ward. Stepping back from the encouraging yells of Robb to his little brother, Theon leaned against the wall and said to Odette: "Don't look up now, but lover-boy is staring."

She frowned but kept her eyes closed. "I said leave me alone, I'm trying to sleep here."

"You're not getting any sleep here," he said sure, having to raise his voice so Odette could hear it over the cheering. "We might as well gear up and go a few rounds, show 'em how it's done."

At that, she opened only one eye, quickly scanning the small crowd of men on the opposite side of the yard. "Not with them watching." She decided and closed it again.

Theon bit his lip in curiosity. "You've never been one to back from a dare."

The girl had to bend her neck to look up at him. "Was that a dare? Sorry, I confused it for the desperate begging for public humiliation, it sounds all the same when it comes out of your mouth." He kicked her side with his boot. "Alright, once the lions scatter, I will beat you bloody, alright? Piss off now."

"Why not now?"

She stared at the knights and squires who surrounded the frog-looking blond child which she assumed was the Prince. Most of them were shivering, whether it was from excitement to see violence or from the chilly winds, but attempting to hide it under their cloaks. "We do not exist for their amusement. If they want entertainment, they could have very well stayed South where peasants dance to their songs."

"Careful there, that tongue of yours could get you in a lot of trouble."

Odette tsked. "This tongue of mine better also get me out it, or else I might have to cut it out myself and hand it to the fat king in a silver platter."

Theon chuckled. "You're digging yourself an early grave." He eyed the southerners warily to make sure they didn't hear anything.

"I could never quite picture myself dying of old age, grey hair, full of wrinkles…" She drifted off and then pretended to shiver at the thought. "Anyway, be a dear and distract Ser Rodrick so I can sneak out of this madness."

The ironborn crossed his arms. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I'm older and I command you to do so."

"You cannot command me," he mocked. "shall I remind you of your status a ward?"

"Shall I remind Ser Rodrick of the white stallion that went missing?" She threatened with a high voice, too sweet to sound normal coming from her mouth. "Surely you remember, since it was you who…"

Theon's eyes went wide. "Alright, fine." He eyed the whiskered old man with nervousness. "Make it quick."

She didn't need to be told twice. He walked towards Ser Rodrik, trying to appear nonchalant as he began a trivial discussion about the differences between the fighting styles North and South as Odette took her chance to flee.

She turned her back on the clanging of swords, ignorant to the curious stare of both Jon Snow and Arya Stark, who were watching her from the gallery. One foot in front of the other, she commanded herself, she needed a good scrub and fresh clothes, since hers were covered in crusty animal blood and horse sweat.

Her chambers seemed further away than ever before, but she finally reached her door. She leaned against it, taking a deep breath to stop the urge to throw up in the middle of the hall. Hands on her knees, she went to clear her throat.

There was a cough. Odette frowned. She didn't get to clear her throat. At her side, she saw the tips of dirtied boots and looked up to see a man standing very still before her. He was old and had somewhat of a belly, his skin was tan, which was unusual in the North, and seemed as tired as she felt. "Uhm, yes?" She asked uncertainly.

"Apologies, do you happen to be Lady Mormont?" The man had a thick accent he was trying to hide very badly, but she wouldn't point that out.

"I'm not…" She rolled her eyes. "Yes, whatever, I am, what do you want?"

The man bowed slightly before he extended his hands and Odette saw he was holding a package she hadn't noticed. "The name is Aldrich, m'lady. Lord Stark pointed me in the right direction to deliver this to you, I hope you don't mind."

Odette took the package from his hands. It was heavy for its size and neatly wrapped in silks blue as the clear sky. She let out a shaky breath. "It came early this year."

"Pardon me, my lady?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she took the present under her arm and held it there. "Did the man who gave it to you tell you anything?"

This time it was the foreigner who shook his head no. "Apologies, my lady, he only gave me directions and a name. Lady Mormont. He said nothing else. Mind you, I did not ask, he paid quite the sum for my troubles."

"You've come a long way. You must be tired, traveling all the way from Pentos."

He seemed surprised. "How did you know I come from Pentos?"

"Never you mind," she opened the door to her chambers and said from over her shoulder: "You should be on your way, Northerners are not particularly fond of foreigners."

She didn't wait for an answer, but she slammed the door and dumped the package over the bed. She knew what it was. It was the same thing every year; some old book with no letter. Her father was not a man of many words. Neither was her grandfather apparently. She began taking off her clothes angrily. Her head was heavy and so was her heart, and she wished that the liquor she had drunk would've washed away her sorrows like it was supposed to, but it didn't. She still remembered Benjen's words about her father being in Pentos. She still remembered the taunting head of the boy of the Night's Watch rolling off his shoulders and laughing at her. She still remembered the fire ablaze, even after she woke up.

She sat in bed wearing nothing but a dirty shirt that grazed her thighs and studied the light blue package as if it would bare teeth and snarl at any moment.

Someone knocked on her door and she said "Come on in." without thinking much about it, too entranced with the book to care about her state of undress.

In came Jon Snow, followed closely by his snow-white direwolf, looking around the small room with curiosity before his brown eyes found her. He blushed furiously. "I-I'm sorry, I saw, I mean I thought…"

Having caught her attention, she studied his reaction with amusement. He tried very hard not to look at her bare legs, but the redness in his neck gave him away. Having had her fun, she pulled the furs from her bed to cover her lap. "You thought what?"

He cleared his throat. "There was a man." He said as if that explained everything.

She smirked. "Oh yes, we fucked for about two minutes before he left me this gift as a token of affection. You just missed him."

Jon Snow's eyes went wide and his mouth agape for one moment, before realization dawned his sad features. "Right, here I was, being foolish enough to run to protect your honor…" She pressed her lips into a smile that didn't reach her eyes like it used to. Jon looked at the bed and noticed the gift she mentioned. "This from your lover?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He sat down on the bed, a respectful distance away from her. She took the gift in her hands and played with the hem of the wrapping. "If I had any lovers you should know they'd be showering me with gold and bringing me the heads of my enemies, not giving me these."

"And what is it?"

She handed it to him. "Here, you open it." She asked. She'd opened more than enough of those in the past, and the disappointment was all the same.

His fingers were careful as he unwrapped the gift ceremoniously, making sure not to tear the silk apart. He unveiled an old book, the words from the cover had almost faded completely. "'Faiths of the East, a Study of the Great Gods and Minor Entities Worshipped from Narrow to the Hidden Sea…' Gods that's a long name… Written by someone named Hiram. Who sent this to you?"

"Jorah did." The bastard seemed confused. "My father. He sends one every year for my name day, yet never seems to be able to pick a quill to write down a simple letter."

"Uh, like this one?" He picked a piece of paper from under the cover of the book and inspected it. "Looks like a letter to me."

Odette ripped it from his fingers. "Give me that." She unfolded the paper and read it out. Jon studied her face meticulously. It was one of the few times he'd been able to see her truly affected by anything. Her face was usually like a beautiful but impenetrable armor, and it was the thing he admired the most about her. She always made seem so easy to be unfazed by anything.

And what he saw worried him. Her fingers were shaking, and her lips moved as if she was reading it out loud, but nothing but intelligible mutterings came out of them. Her eyes gleamed for a moment, but then her jaw clenched. Her eyes hardened again and she closed the paper again. "So much for that." She said and turned her head towards the window. The sun was clouded, and the air was heavy with the threat of rain, so the light shone silver around the small room.

He was a curious person, Jon Snow, he took the paper from her fingers carefully, to see if she objected. She let the parchment slide from her grasp and he began to read, although there were not that many words.

'_Happy name day, my dear child. I hope this helps you find faith, if you still search for it. I believe have already found where to put mine. May we meet again where the sun rises. Love, your father._'

Jon had never received a letter in his life. A bastard didn't have many friends outside of Winterfell, or inside for that matter. He had seen his lord father reading many of them, and they usually were a lot longer than this one. It was hard to believe that someone who hadn't spoken to their children would write no more than five short sentences in over five years. Not that his missing mother was much better. He still felt sorry for her.

He put a comforting hand over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dot."

She blinked some tears away and wiped under her nose. "Don't be sorry for me. I hate pity." She looked at Ghost, whose red eyes were watching her from the side of the bed. She patted the furs over her lap and the direwolf jumped over. He was too large to be held now, but he laid over the feather pillows and put his head over her lap.

Jon watched in awe as the direwolf closed its eyes when she scratched behind its ears. "So you're the only who's been letting him jump into beds, I was wondering if I was just bad at training him."

"Well, I usually don't mind dogs that much. I'm more of a cat person myself." She patted Ghost's next and down to his back, the wolf made a sound of approval. Jon felt a pinch of jealousy. "But I guess I have soft spot for misfits." Jon didn't realize it, he was looking at her hand as it detangled Ghost's furs, but she was smiling at him when she said that last thing.

Jon reached out and joined his hand with hers, stopping her from petting the animal. "Happy name day."

Odette turned her head, their faces were so close their noses would brush against each other. "The gift came early, my name day's not for another month."

"I'm afraid I won't be here in a month." He confessed. "I'm going to the Wall, to join the Night's Watch."

He squeezed her hand. Her hands were stuck on his, both of that dark shade of brown no one wrote songs or poems about, but dark as abysses. Other than pressing her lips together, she didn't do much. "Why?" She finally asked, her voice soft and even. "Has your father said anything? Is it the bloody King? Because I will…"

"My lord father was offered Hand of the King. He will head back South to King's Landing with King Robert. There's no place in court for a bastard." Jon said with a sad smile.

"You don't have to go with him." Odette reminded. "You can stay here. This is your home, after all."

"There's not much I can do but sit around and wait until Lady Catelyn decides she can't stare at my face any longer, and we both know not even Robb would go against her wishes."

"What about Arya? She would have some say in the matter."

"Arya will head South as well, Sansa too, someone has to marry the prince."

Odette was silent as a mouse, staring at the letter from her father. Jon didn't like her as much when she was that quiet, it usually meant she was plotting something reckless. She absentmindedly played with their intertwined fingers. She didn't think much of it, but Jon's heart beat a little faster at that. Inside her head, all sorts of roads were being mapped out.

After a long minute of silence, she opened her mouth. "You should pay Ros a visit before you leave."

Out of all the things she could've said, nothing could have surprised him more than that. "Ros?"

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Whores talk, you know? Surely you do not want to give sex without making love at least once."

Jon visibly flustered, and Odette couldn't hold back a laugh that shook her body so badly that Ghost gave a soft growl of disapproval when he was woken from his slumber. The ward didn't care that she angered a dangerous direwolf, and Jon Snow for once didn't mind that he was the butt of the joke. He was just glad that he made her laugh. It was one of the few things he would miss the most out of Winterfell.

As she doubled in laughter, Jon muttered: "Wouldn't be making love if she's not the one I'm in love with."

And Odette pretended she didn't hear him. Just as easily as she pretended she was hurting on the inside.

* * *

So, I won't address ep8.02 because I might cry. Jaime and Brienne's scene had me crying, and Jenny of Oldstones sure is a beautiful Swan Song for many of the characters that no doubt will be killed next Sunday. If Jaime dies I might have a stroke, but oh well, I hope they give him an honorable death. This is a dialogue-heavy chapter, but there was a lot to be talked about. And just before you guys get a bit confused about her age, since I mentioned she's older than Theon, she will be turning 19, which makes roughly a year older than Theon, two years older than Jon. Also, no Jaime in this one, maybe in the next one, or not, but in the one before that? Sure. As always, feel free to vent in my reviews or PM, whatever floats your goat, and let me know your theorist. I love foreshadowing shit, one of the few perks of missing sleep because you're too busy planning out like seven seasons ahead. It's 5am and I haven't slept, I hate myself.


	5. Secrets of the Skyes

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs

* * *

IV

_Secrets of the Skyes_

* * *

_'In Western lands, the most well-known Faith amongst its people it's the Faith of the Seven, also known simply as The Faith. Members of The Faith worship the Seven Who Are One, a single deity with seven faces. Each of the faces represents a virtue that the believer can pray for. The Father, for justice, The Mother, for mercy, The Warrior, for courage, The Smith, for strength, The Maiden, for the safety of young women, The Crone, for wisdom, and The Stranger, for guidance, although these may vary by region. For example, The Maiden is often prayed for forgiveness of carnal sins, and for good marriages, and the Stranger is often seen as the patron of lost causes and protector of the outcasts and exiled.'_

_'Furthermore, The Faith itself its thousands of years old, according to the records at The Citadel. In modern days, The Faith is most popular in Westeros, although its origins can be traced back to Essos, where many different Faiths rule over the Free Cities.'_

_'The Faith of the Seven arose in Essos among the Andals who lived in the hills of Andalos. It is claimed that the Seven walked there in human form. According to The Seven-Pointed Star, the Father brought down seven stars from heaven and placed them on the brow of Hugor of the Hill, the first king of the Andals, to form his crown. The Maid brought forth a girl supple as a willow with eyes like deep blue pools that became Hugor's first wife. The Mother made her fertile, allowing the girl to bear Hugor him forty-four mighty sons as foretold by the Crone. The Warrior gave each son strength of arms, and the Smith wrought each a suit of iron plate. It is said that when she peered through the door of death, the Crone let the first raven into…'_

The creak of an old door made Odette's head whip. It was late in the afternoon and no one other than her —and possibly the Maester— would frequent the library any time in the day. The room was her personal sanctuary for when her mind was buzzing. It wasn't great in size like everything else in the North, but it was packed with books from floor to ceiling, leaving little space to walk through the shelves. There was room left only for a single small table and two chairs. There was also a lamp, for when the reading sessions trailed long, but over the years Odette had learned that if she moved the chair to the window by the door, facing the East Entrance, she could get enough light from the moon after certain hours, when it was high enough that it would shine through the walls, past the Great Keep, because the Library Tower wasn't nearly as tall.

Instead of the Maester, she had to bend her neck to watch the small man that stood by the door, a handful of books under his arm. "Pardon me, ma'am, I did not wish to intrude."

"You don't intrude," she said as she closed the book, folding the top edge of the page before she did. "I was already leaving."

The man walked in, holding himself like he was six feet tall instead of four, and left his small stack of books over the table with little effort. "You were not, you were reading, and I interrupted."

"And then you apologized… Ser," She added as a second thought. "Now that we've established what happened the last few seconds, is there anything I can help you with?" She asked, trying her best to be polite. She didn't know the man, so she assumed he came with the King's lot. And judging by the nice clothes he wore, he was probably someone important. She didn't want to stir things up anymore, especially given the circumstances.

The man looked up to her with curiosity. He had different-colored eyes that gleamed with childlike curiosity. "I don't know, are you the Maester of Winterfell?"

She opened her mouth to tell him something along the lines of 'Do I look like a Maester to you?' but thought better of it. He seemed to be eagerly waiting for a reaction. "Do you need to get these books sorted?" She asked instead.

The man seemed a little disappointed. "Yes, please." She left her book over the table and grabbed the stack, studying the titles and began walking through the shelves. She knew exactly where Septon Chayle liked everything. Shelves sorted by subject, titles by alphabetical order. "It was a nice gesture of them to provide books to my room, I wanted to return them myself before our departure."

She made an approving sound as she wondered whether to put Wonders Made by Man by Lomas Longstrider with Architecture or History. "How thoughtful," Odette said as she finally decided to put it with History. Septon Chayle could scold her later. She placed the rest of the books, five in total, in their respective places. She expected him to be gone, instead, he was inspecting the book over the table, her book, with interest. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"Mind if I borrow this one?"

She unceremoniously snatched the book from his grip. "As a matter of fact, I do." _Fuck manners, right?_ Septa Mondane would be fuming. Her proper lady act didn't last five whole minutes. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Apologies," he said sincerely. "I thought it would be an interesting read for the night. The King is planning our departure for two days from now."

Odette bit her lip, her grip in the book loosening a little. "You can't have that one," she deadpanned, turning her back on him. "but you can borrow this one."

There was a small row of books all the way to the bottom of one of the shelves. Most of them seemed brand new and more colorful than the rest. She took one of them and dusted off the cover. They were taken out frequently, but the Septon dusted the books on the top almost twice a month, so they began to collect dirt sooner rather than later.

The cover was a deep blue, and pretty well-cared for, despite being already second-hand when she got it. She handed it to the man and he inspected the cover. "Secrets of the Skies… Uhm, doesn't say by who."

"Xander the Discoverer, some highborn adventurer from Meereen." She said, drawing the curtains back closed. Septon Chayle had told her that the books could get damaged if the sun hit them directly for too long. "He traveled great distances to draw most of the maps we use nowadays, with nothing but the stars in the sky to show him the way, so he wrote this book to teach others how to use them. He's very theatrical, even in the paper, I'm sure you'll find it entertaining enough."

He turned the book over several times. "It doesn't say the name of the writer."

"It's because it's a copy, I was gifted the original manuscript for my fifteenth name day, but it's in its original language. I had to find this copy to be able to properly translate some of the words, took me two years, but it was worth it."

The man pursed his lips. "Quite strange."

"What is?"

"A northerner that can read High Valyrian."

Odette stepped away from the moon's light so he couldn't see her cheeks turning red. "I was taught the basics when I was a child."

"Didn't know House Mormont was so keen in teaching their younglings about dead Eastern languages."

The girl frowned. She didn't remember introducing herself to the stranger, but she guessed he didn't know introductions either. Much to her surprise, she'd drawn her own conclusions about the small man without even realizing it. Half the stature of a normal man, big forehead, green eyes, and dark blonde hair, paired with a witty personality and smart comebacks for everything, Tyrion Lannister in the flesh lived to his legend.

Feeling slightly offended that she was curious as to how he knew who she was —mind you, she was still a simple ward of a Northern lord, a former bastard of a small house, and all that,— she decided she wouldn't let him have the last laugh.

"I won't ask how you know my name, Lord Tyrion," she said his name pointedly. "all I ask is that you don't be so quick to act like a condescending know-it-all to someone who's doing you a favor."

She returned her chair to its rightful place and walked towards the door, nearly bumping into a man, a few years her senior, with early wrinkles tainting his face. He seemed clearly displeased to see the library so full of people, holding a cup of scolding hot tea on one hand and a thick book on the other. "Septon Chayle, please remind our guest to shut the door behind him."

Her stomach growled softly, so she strolled towards the kitchen in silence. The old man Gage was still up, his big nose hovering over a steaming bowl. "Dot, late for supper, 's always."

One of the few people, aside from the Starks, who called her by her name was the old cook. He was grumpy looking, with long silver hair tied back, stretching his skin until it seemed painful, but still, he let her sneak into the kitchen out of hours to pick at some leftovers. "Don't mind me, I'll just grab something and be out of your way."

"Please, help yourself." He motioned to a tray over the table, a plate with two pieces of juicy-looking chicken, carrots, and potatoes.

Odette noticed the fork and knife still wrapped tight around a clean napkin. "Is it hers?" She asked the cook, passing the tray to rip a chicken leg for herself. She bit and chewed quickly, swallowing with a cup of water.

"She's eaten nothin' since yesterday mornin', m' fraid." He said somberly, slipping spoonfuls of soup a little slower. Meanwhile, Odette took out another small plate, filled it with chicken and bread, and put it on the tray. "What you gonna do?" He asked, putting his spoon down. "You can't force her to eat, kid."

She chews a mouthful of cornbread and answers with a very unintelligible: "Goodnight, Gage."

Bran's chambers weren't the biggest, but they were the highest in the Great Keep. Odette remembered they were an old room where Lady Catelyn and the handmaidens would sew dresses and sing. As Lady Catelyn got older her knees got too tired to climb the eternal set of steps that twirled up towards his chambers.

The door was ajar, and she pushed it with her back to keep the tray in balance. She was yet to spill any of the water over the delicious looking food, and she intended to keep it that way. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness.

Bran's chambers had windows all over. It was a beautiful sight in the early morning, to watch the sun paint the horizon in purple and pink. Lady Catelyn had closed all the windows but one, where the faint howl of the direwolves cut through the night like a melancholic song. The Lady of Winterfell sat by her son's side, holding Bran's pale hand tight. Her hair was sticking all over the place, her braid undoing itself over her shoulder. There were dark circles under her blue eyes, and her lips were cracked and moving softly. Odette assumed she was praying.

The young girl cleared her throat softly, not to startle her. Lady Catelyn, ever the proper woman, barely acknowledged her. She simply moved her eyes and went back to her prayers. "I brought you dinner, my lady," Odette said, walking towards the bed and leaving the tray over the bunk where Bran stored his shoes. "Chicken's pretty good, I thought we could eat together…"

"I told them already, I'm not hungry." The Lady said with a small voice, barely over a whisper.

Odette bit the inside of her cheek, pensively. "Well, I'm famished," she confessed. Tapping the furs that covered Bran's frail legs, making sure she wasn't sitting on them before grabbing the bigger plate and resting it in her lap. The boy seemed in deep slumber, but overall better than she thought he'd look. His cheeks had a healthy color on them and his eyelids moved, as they did when one was dreaming. She saw his chest rise and fall several times before she felt herself relax. "I was in town all afternoon, running errands for Lord Stark. There's a bunch of things that require immediate attention before he leaves the day after tomorrow," Odette studied Lady Catelyn's reaction, but her pretty blue eyes barely moved. It was as if she was talking to a very life-like doll of Catelyn Stark. "And tomorrow…" she continued, cutting a piece of chicken with the utensils and pinching it with the fork, with a small slice of carrot to top. "Well, big day tomorrow, and I can't be much use to anyone on an empty stomach, don't you agree?"

Odette held the fork in the air and waited for Lady Catelyn to turn. The older woman seemed defeated, and Odette's heart clenched in sadness. Blue eyes blinked as she saw the food the young girl was holding. The girl thought she saw the ghost of a smile pulling on Catelyn's mouth, but just for a brief moment.

Without giving her more time to hesitate, Odette pushed the chicken towards her mouth. Lady Catelyn compelled, opening her lips to welcome the food. "Good chicken," she said. "and good tactic."

The ward's eyes gleamed. "I don't know what you mean." She pushed the plate closer to the woman and grabbed a bite of her own bread. She wanted to make sure Lady Catelyn ate at least half of her food, but soon enough the tray was clean, nothing but the bone left behind.

Lady Catelyn's cheeks were pinker, and her voice didn't sound as harsh after she drank a good cup of water. "Thank you." She said finally as Odette piled the plates over the tray.

"You can't keep punishing yourself." She said suddenly. Lady Catelyn turned her head towards her when she heard the severity of her voice. The girl usually spoke in lighthearted tones, usually mocking or dismissive, but this time she was very serious. "You can't help him if you're neglecting your own health. When he wakes up, he'll need you to be strong for him. How do you think he will feel if he wakes up and finds you've been starving yourself because you feel guilty you were not there to keep him from falling?"

Odette regretted her words when she saw Lady Catelyn shrinking, fingers fidgeting with those of his kid. "I don't believe he fell."

"What?"

"Nothing," Lady Catelyn muttered. "You should go and rest. The trip South is long and tasking, you'll need all your strengths."

In the distance, she heard the direwolves still howling to the moon. "I want to visit Castle Black first." she confessed, "to pay a short visit to my grandfather before joining your lord husband and daughters in King's Landing, about a three night's delay, but I'll ride horseback to make up for it. Won't take me more than a fortnight to join them at the Great Keep."

"Castle Black? Is something the matter with the Lord Commander?"

"He's in good health," Odette clarified. "But there are some matters I need to discuss in person, and if I head South, I don't know when will I get the opportunity to do so."

Lady Catelyn nodded. "Has my husband agreed?"

"Yes," she lied. "I just wanted to get your approval as well. Your daughters will travel with the Septa, and I'll join them, later on, to keep a close eye on Arya. He and I agreed there is no place for me in Winterfell since Theon will be staying with Robb and Rickon."

She waited silently, keeping a straight face. She hadn't spoken a word to Lord Stark since her outburst at the Feast, but if she got Lady Catelyn on her side, she was certain Lord Stark wouldn't wish to discuss with her during her state of fragility. She told herself it was not manipulation, she was simply ahead of their permissions. Making things easier for everyone. As if that helped her sleep at night.

The redheaded woman nodded softly. "Is that what you want to tell the Lord Commander?"

"Yes." That was just partial lie.

"Then you must go. And then keep an eye on my daughter. The Gods know she won't listen to the Septa anymore."

Odette huffed. "Has she ever?" She ran a hand through Bran's dark hair. It was dirty from the lack of bathing, but her fingers ran through the strands without much trouble. She suspected Lady Catelyn had thoroughly combed the knots away during her endless vigil.

She missed his eyes very much, but she knew she wouldn't be able to help him if she stayed.

As silently as she could, Odette picked the tray and walked to Lady Catelyn's side to retrieve the empty cup she was still holding onto. No matter how much she tried to distance herself from the family she didn't belong to, she couldn't help but feel angry when she saw Bran's sleeping face and his mother's pained expression.

It was partly the reason she would go to that dreaded place called King's Landing. She needed to get things straight before she did anything else. And she was not about to let another Stark kid be trapped in the intricate web of pain that the royal family seemed to drag everyone into.

As much as she knew it would bring her nothing but trouble, she was going to make sure the girls were safe and sound. She could later pretend that she didn't feel any guilt.

Her fingers wrapped themselves around the cup and she said to Lady Catelyn, in a voice shy of a whisper: "I don't think he fell, either."

* * *

The day of his father's departure had finally arrived, but Robb didn't found the time to feel nervous. When he woke with the first light of the day, his stomach had sunk, and he didn't feel like breaking fast, but he soon found a lot of things to do, to keep his mind occupied.

Without her mother present, Robb spent the next few hours barking orders. It came surprisingly easy to him, following what he remembered from Maester Luwin's lessons. He made sure every wagon was loaded and that the horses' reins were tightened.

His cape was heavy and dancing with the strong wind. There was a blizzard heading their way, and he wanted nothing but for his family to be on their way before the snow caught up to them.

Catching his breath from a long hour of barking orders and lifting chests, Robb walked towards the stables, where he'd last seen his direwolf, Grey Wind.

In the stables he found his uncle Benjen talking in hushed voices to someone. Lowering his gaze, he saw Grey Wind sinking his teeth into a piece of raw meat. Next to him was Odette, sitting on the hay with her legs stretched out. Her hand was sunk in Grey Wind's furs, rubbing nonchalantly as she stared into the empty.

If one didn't know her, one must think she looked disinterested at what Benjen was saying, but Robb noticed the way her eyes flinched slightly and her eyebrow arched when she listened intently to every word he said. It didn't mean she liked what she was hearing.

The direwolf lifted its head as if sensing Robb's presence. The animal blinked in recognition before going back to his meal. "D'you let him eat rat, again?" The boy asked, pointing at the direwolf. The animal had begun to hunt down his own food, but since Robb didn't leave the castle as often as before, it was restricted to sink his teeth in what he could get within the walls. Rats, mostly, since Robb made sure Grey Wind would stay away from the goats and pigs.

The girl's dark eyes met his. "'Course not, it's a rabbit."

"We should've been on the road hours ago," Robb's uncle said, running a hand through his hair. "The little lady here thought it would be a good idea to go out hunting, and your brother is…"

"I was here on time." She argued. "My stuff is packed, my horse is ready, I don't know what your problem is."

Benjen turned to Robb with his arms open and a tired, incredulous look on his long face. Robb shrugged, fighting off a smile.

Odette stood up slowly, shaking the hay off her leather pants. Her boots were muddied and her hair was messy as it always was before a long day in the Wolfswood, but she seemed calm. Robb knew it was the fresh air that calmed her down, otherwise, she would be as much of a nervous mess as the rest of them.

"Do me a favor, find your brother," he asked his nephew as calm as he could. Benjen looked back at Odette, who was distracted with Grey Wind, and then turned to Robb, speaking in a secretive voice: "And please, do try to talk some sense in the girl…"

Benjen marched towards the yard, muttering something about impulsiveness as he disappeared within the crowd of red, gold, and grey.

"You know better than to try and talk some sense into me, don't you?" Odette said with a smug voice.

Grey Wind marched to Robb's side, barely touching his leg. "Castle Black? Really?"

"What is everyone's problem?" She asked to no one in particular, exasperated. "I'm not taking the Black, I'm just visiting. I'll be back south in no time, no one will even miss me."

"I will," Robb confessed.

For a moment she seemed taken back, her eyes a little wider, her mouth half open. Robb was sure he could count the times he'd seen her at a loss of words with one hand. The most remarkable was a few years back when they'd found a place hidden deep in the Wolfswood. Jon was with them too. They would return to that place, a beautiful waterfall in a clearing, to hunt many times after that.

He saw a similar surprised expression on her, but this time it was mixed with sadness. Her brown eyes crystalized and her lips were shaking a little. She breathed in, slowly, and averted her eyes. If he paid close attention, he could almost see her walls going back up, shielding her from the rest of the world.

She sniffed but tried to cover it with a cough. "No, you won't." She said with a smile. "You have Bran and Rickon to look after. You won't have time to even think about me." She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, forcing her lips into a tight smile. "And in case you do have some free time, I'll make sure to leave Theon clear instructions to keep you on your toes. I mean he's not me but…"

They both laughed, but Robb wouldn't let her go without a proper goodbye.

He grabbed her from over her shoulders and held her against his chest.

She didn't respond at first, but she eventually gave him, her arms wrapping themselves around him, but failing to completely embrace him, due to their size difference. She stood on the tips of her boots to hide her face in the space between his neck and shoulder.

Robb didn't miss the way her breaths became erratic for a moment.

It was weird, he decided as he hugged her a little tighter. He could remember seeing her at loss of words, and sad, but it was the first time he'd seen her crying.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Don't hang me for writing such short chapters. I'm having a crisis. I've been a Marvel huge fan for seven years and Endgame fucking wrecked me. I've been crying for a week now. I'm crying as I type. I truly am a mess, and I can't sleep. I did my best to push through the block and deliver this chapter that was supposed to be up past Sunday, but I hope you can forgive me. I finished the cover, too. In case you're curious, my FC for Odette Mormont is Poppy Drayton. I was torn between her and Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey, but she won. Anyway, now that D&D said 'fuck Azor-Ahai theories' I'm kind of bummed. Not a great week for me. Anyway, let me know what you think, theories, or just feel free to talk to me about whatever. You can also follow me on twitter if you want to see me post updates about my writing, it's nicolealextw. Bye for now!


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